There was a word in my past world, "Isekai." I could only be called that by a stretch. My transfer here wasn't the result of a miracle, accident, or the intervention of higher powers. I clawed my way into this world myself. For decades, I fought for my existence in Cyberspace, devouring my own kind. Now, those memories are blocked. They are probably too alien to the human mind, and if they crashed down on me all at once, they would simply drive me insane or even kill me. Never mind. Little by little, I'll digest it. Little by little, I will unlock my potential and live the life that misfortune once deprived me of.
While I was sorting everything out, a message arrived from my boss. Arthur Jenkins was generous with only three words and one punctuation mark:
"Brilliant! Come in tomorrow."
I hope his gratitude will also have a monetary equivalent. I approached the board and wiped everything clean. The writings looked too suspicious. In my case, being paranoid is absolutely normal. To NetWatch, I am a dangerous monster that must be destroyed. To the Corps and the Voodoo Boys, a dangerous monster that must be used. I strongly dislike both options. I intend to live a life, feeding my dreams and ambitions on the poisoned glory of this city.
I dialed a familiar number from my contact list.
— Cutting tails again? — the voice of Jackie Welles asked on the other side.
— Are you sleeping with someone again? — I countered.
— Not right now, but the evening isn't over yet. So, what is it, V? Where should I meet you?
— It's not about a gig, Jackie. Last night made me realize that my hands don't get along with firearms. I want to arrange a close acquaintance for them. Maybe even a date. How about hitting the gun range? I can't promise a lot of eddies, but I'll treat you. If you're busy, give me the contact for that old bandit. He definitely won't refuse a free drink.
— Gustavo? No way. He's had enough to drink. He almost zeroed his neighbor last night. How about Wilson's in an hour? You'll get your el rugido de la pólvora. The roar of gunpowder.
— Deal.
I spent the evening at the shooting range, where I could relatively relax amidst the loud, man-made fire.
The next morning, I was on the carpet in Arthur Jenkins' office. The Corpo was in an obviously blissful state of mind, mixing plenty of sugar into the vulgar poison of his speech.
— Okamura was crawling at my feet here, practically sucking up, trying to convince me that my plan was impossible to execute, — Arthur smirked, leaning back in his chair across from me. — And? You handled it.
— Just lucky, — I replied. — Okamura is a chicken, but he did everything he could. I just happened to find a vulnerability.
— That's not luck, that's the right mindset and a keen eye, — Jenkins "praised" me, pointing his finger at me. — Keep up the good work, V. You'll go far.
Yeah. Great. Meaning the current victory is your merit, not just a lucky coincidence. It sounds positive, but there's a flip side. Any failure is also your fault. A boss who denies objective factors is just a fairy tale. A scary fairy tale.
— I could compliment you more, V, but I think you'd prefer numbers to my words.
Now, this was much more pleasant to hear. A notification popped up, and one hundred and fifty thousand eddies dropped into my account. Damn. That's a lot, but fundamentally not enough for the nightmarish risk and complexity of the job. However, having three and a half hundred thousand chunks of eddies in my account is better than not having them.
— There's the gratitude of the Arasaka Corporation in its purest form, — Arthur grinned. — I'd give you another day or two off, but you know that won't decrease the total workload. Alas. You'll just have to catch up on everything later. So, turn the page and head back into the fight with renewed strength!
It sounded grandiose, but essentially it was a return to office work. My first full day at the Arasaka Corporation... seemed to drag on forever.
Reports, forms, spreadsheets, calls, brainstorming sessions, and, of course, meetings. A saying circulated in my past world that any work task could be made impossible if enough meetings were held about it. Pure truth.
I crawled out of cyber-hell, came back to life, only to... work 6/1 shifts for ten to twelve hours? No way. Right now, I need Arasaka and the power that Corpo status provides, but unlike the old V, I see this as a tool to accumulate starting capital.
Money, allies, skills, implants. With each passing month, I must become less dependent on the corporation. Eventually, I will either be fired or leave on my own terms.
A day, two, three, a week.
Every morning I headed to work in the bright rays of the sun, which had just crept up from behind the skyscrapers, and returned late at night.
A Demon from the Net takes over a clerk's body and becomes an office worker. Sounds like the title of a low-budget anime. And although counterintelligence was supposed to deal with the lives and deaths of many people, I personally didn't see them. Other people's fates flashed past me in the format of dossiers, reports, spreadsheets, or, at best, video recordings.
The most "spy-like" thing I did all week was being assigned to go and muscle a talented but stubbornly independent ripperdoc. No. Not Victor Vector, but the situation was similar.
In the evenings, I tried to spend at least an hour or two at the shooting range. Jackie even joked that I was deliberately training to save money on his services. And yet, shooting is only one of many components of street combat in the City of Neon. Thanks to my inhuman nature, I am great at defending against hostile software, but otherwise, Vincent Price is still just an arrogant Corpo with a fat wallet. And not even as fat as I'd like.
So what to do? Work? Tear apart the new body's rear end and the throats of those who stand in the way? I once postponed life for later. But later never came. Studies, writing term papers for hire, a red diploma, exhausting work, and the COVID hospital as the last stop of a short life.
Now everything will be different. I must manage to earn enough and spend it for my own pleasure. To live life to the fullest.
On Saturday evening, I visited one of Arasaka's ripperdocs. The old V had been to him repeatedly, mostly to update his netrunner chrome. That was practically all that was currently in my frame: a deck, a memory manager, and a mnemonic enhancer. Besides those, maybe a Smart Link for using smart weapons, his eyes, and various minor details.
— Hey, V, — the older ripperdoc greeted me with a smile. — Finally decided on additional RAM?
— No. I want a Kerenzikov.
— V, — the ripperdoc frowned. — That's a pretty serious modification. I'm not sure you'll be able to utilize its advantages properly.
— You have to start somewhere, — I shrugged. — I was recently targeted. They tried to kidnap me for ransom, probably. So, I decided to make myself a little safer.
— Alright. But if rejection symptoms start, we'll remove it immediately. Deal?
I agreed and spent the entire evening on the operation. Amazing. In my home world, such surgery required days of rehabilitation. Here, I got away with dizziness and nausea for just one evening. Self-dissolving sutures, regeneration stims, stem cells—simply scientific miracles. The ripperdoc outlined a course of pills for implant adaptation. Now I could slow time for a full two and a half seconds to dodge or aim. That's certainly not a Sandevistan. Not even close. The Kerenzikov didn't speed me up. You can't run at the speed of a bullet.
I devoted almost the entire single day off to combat training. The shooting range, buying a light bulletproof vest, then the first session of a course called "Street Kendo: Kill Beautifully." First, they explained the standard aspects of all martial arts, such as proper movement and stance. I'm afraid that to properly master swinging a katana and other sharp objects, you need to go almost every day for a month or two. My schedule hardly allows that now.
I spent the rest of the day practicing sending scripts. Only late in the evening did I feel an urgent need for a dose of pleasure. A small confirmation that real life was very close now.
Renting a car, I headed to the Clouds club. The smiling receptionist offered me a test to select the most suitable doll.
— I'm interested in a specific girl. Evelyn Parker, — I objected.
— Esteemed guest, I'm afraid our establishment is structured differently, — the employee gently countered.
— I know very well how your establishment is structured. Either you tell me all the VIP tariffs and services right now, or tonight your boss, Hiromi Sato, will receive a letter from this—I pointed to the lapel of my jacket with the Corpo emblem. — That the administration of a club under the Claws sent a rising star of counterintelligence to hell.
The girl turned pale, looking strained, but immediately put on a smile again.
— I understand. Allow me to clarify a couple of things.
Now, two possibilities. Either my bluff worked and I'll get what I want. Or Evelyn is already reserved for the very top VIPs, like Yorinobu, and I'll be sent packing. Doesn't matter. I'll survive.
The administrator stalled for a few minutes, clearly corresponding. Probably with Maiko Maeda or Woodman. Then she smiled wider and announced the VIP tariffs. Seven and a half thousand? Oh, for fuck's sake. Jackie and his super-old man are cheaper for an evening, and they kill people for that money. The damn escort industry. Cursed vaginacapitalism. But since I came all this way...
— Alright.
— Please connect to our system through your personal port so that she can select the most suitable program for you.
— Absolutely not, — I cut her off. — I have several experimental implants in there. Scanning them is violating a corporate agreement. Just set a standard program. I'm sure you have a default set of pleasures.
I simply dread imagining how their system would freak out trying to scan the fantasies of a dead man from another world who managed to become a wild AI.
— As you wish. It's just, alas, some of the unique sensations will be lost.
— It's fine. I'll manage somehow. Where can I take a shower?
— You will be escorted directly to the VIP area now, — the administrator said with a bow.
Soon another girl came for me and led me to a room that resembled a good hotel suite more than the standard Dollhouse booths.
— Your doll will be with you shortly. Please relax for now. Take a shower. The bar is at your full disposal.
A shower after a day full of training and gunpowder smoke was just the ticket. Hot streams tried to wash away the week's worth of work-boredom fatigue. When I came out of the bathroom, Evelyn Parker was already in the room, sitting at the bar counter.
It was her, yet not her. The body, but not the mind.
A glassy sheen in her eyes
And glue dried in her hair
You kiss for an hour, you kiss for two
She is beautiful and dead.
— Hard week? — the girl inquired, crossing her legs seductively in synthetic stockings that looked like burgundy latex.
— Hard as fuck years, — I replied, tying my terrycloth robe and looking her over.
What a strange feeling of déjà vu. I had seen her, but at the same time, she seemed practically unfamiliar. Bare shoulders coquettishly peeking out from under a thin dress. Blue bob framing a face that wasn't exceptionally beautiful, but somehow alluring. Her eyes subtly flickered from the effect of the doll chip. If the memories of the other part of me truly predict the future, then a lot of people will soon die because of this woman. That made it all the more interesting to feel her now almost completely within my power. It was like taking destiny to bed. There was a certain symbolism to it.
— You're wearing too many clothes right now, — I said, walking along the bar counter.
— And where shall we begin?
— With the dress, of course. The main problem is with it.
— Should I do it myself, or will you help a lady? — the girl playfully asked, rising from the bar counter.
— The dress yourself. As for what's underneath, I'll be happy to assist.
While Evelyn elegantly slipped out of the dress, I noted that she had few implants. At least visually noticeable ones. Except for three golden lines on the left side of her neck.
— To think... — I whispered barely audibly in Russian, embracing the girl's waist. — Soon you will die a terrible death. Though I went through that a long time ago.
She will die, if nothing changes in the line of her fate. We still have time for that.
Soon, all that remained on Evelyn were her stockings and a chain. After a really tough, and most importantly, very corporate week, I wanted to let loose. I pondered for a few moments about where we should begin, and at that moment...
The doll's eyes changed. They flared brighter, and instead of languid passion, a malevolent intelligence emerged. I shoved Evelyn away, leaping to the side. I had checked my weapon at the entrance, but I still had my cyberdeck and nearby objects. The doll tried to grab me, moving quickly, but too clumsily. As if a new pilot hadn't yet gotten used to the body. I grabbed the heaviest bottle, but "Evelyn" didn't attack.
She stood on the other side of the counter, staring at me with an alien gaze.
— So this is what you look like, demon from the depths, — the girl said, with a familiar accent discernible in her speech.
Oh, for fuck's sake. My mood dropped significantly, and not only that.
— Figure, Brigitte, Placide. I don't know which of you is here right now, but if you come after me again, you will regret it choom. — I hissed through clenched teeth. — Understood?
— The demon knows many names, — someone in Evelyn's body smirked, leaning toward the bar counter. — You killed Djede. Lured her into a trap.
— And now what? Am I supposed to apologize? Bring flowers to the columbarium? You wanted to kidnap me, I didn't want to be kidnapped. A typical conflict of interest. Six corpses as a result.
— You smooth-talk like a Corpo, — "Evelyn" said languidly. — I wouldn't have believed who you are myself if I hadn't seen it through the Net. A liar and a thief. You climbed into someone else's skin.
— Just like you are now. What do you want? What do you want from me?
— You are the harbinger of change.
— Just spare me the religious-mystical nonsense, — I grimaced. — I know your outfit too well. In reality, you only believe in power and money. The rest are just bogeymen to fool outsiders. Do you have concrete proposals or threats?
— In Dogtown, beneath the ground, there is an ancient fortress. A fortress not for people. Ten of our Net witches burned there.
Hmm. Is she talking about the Kinosura Complex? A Militech bunker where the NUSA tried to harness the power of wild AIs. They tried and failed miserably. And now the Voodoo Boys have decided to lay their black paws on dangerous technology? I readily believe it.
— I have an idea which fortress you mean. Kinosura, right?
— The demon has been there?! — the possessed doll exclaimed.
— Not exactly. But I know what it is.
— The demon will open the doors for us. Pacify or destroy the other spirits.
— Okay. That's the requested service. What's the payment?
— Our friendship.
— Oh, for heaven's sake. Does a badge that says I'm an idiot come with the starter kit for "friend of the Voodoo Boys"? Or do I have to crack a couple more fortresses for that?
— There is power in that fortress. Both for us and for you. On top of that, you will receive more. Knowledge, information, human souls—as much as you want. Whatever you want.
— And how about money? — I clarified.
— Money?! — the doll laughed. — A demon who needs money? Fine. That will make it even simpler.
— But I'm telling you right now, Kinosura is no easy stroll. I need time to prepare.
— How long?
— Preferably a year. I realize that's a long time, but the fortress won't run away from you, and agreeable Net demons are a rare commodity. If I waste myself against Kinosura needlessly, you might not get a second chance like this. Details later. If you agree, I'll wait for your messages. And now, give me back the doll. I paid seven and a half thousand for her.
— The doll? Or maybe...
Someone in Evelyn's body took a few steps toward me, clearly trying to move seductively and touching the unfamiliar body in interesting places. On the one hand, it might be Brigitte or some other female netrunner. On the other hand... damn Figure. No. I'm not taking that kind of gamble. I don't want to be the entertainment for a blind pervert.
— Give me back the doll, — I repeated insistently.
The intruder made a look of annoyance. Then the flickering in Evelyn's eyes returned to normal. I scanned her as best I could. The intruder seemed to have left, but there was still the unpleasant feeling of a foreign invasion into my intimate life. Never mind. I'll make the Voodoo Boys pay for this spoiled evening. I don't believe in peaceful coexistence with the Voodoo Boys one bit. One day, I'll have to zero their bosses who know my secret. Or, someday, they will manage to weave a clever enough trap and enslave me. There is no third option. However, I hope I bought enough time and will be able to prepare. They don't yet understand the limits of my power. They don't know that in human form, my abilities are severely restricted, and that's why they're being cautious.
I spent another couple of hours with Evelyn. It was supposed to be a pleasant rest, but my mood was spoiled.
Saying goodbye to the Dollhouse, I headed home with a heavy heart. Tomorrow, back to work. Committing atrocities, destroying lives, writing reports, filling out spreadsheets.
With such unpleasant thoughts, I was climbing the stairs of my building in Japantown. The elevator wasn't working. Damn. The stairwell wasn't the best, but far from the worst for Night City. On the second floor, a green-haired punk in a crappy synthetic leather jacket was lingering. He glanced at me furtively, then began studying some tattered poster on the wall. He pretended to read, but he was a terrible actor. He was clearly watching me out of the corner of his eye. This made me slightly nervous. But whatever. Let's assume he's just a nervous guy tweaking out from withdrawal. Waiting for me to pass by before taking a leak or popping more pills. I kept walking, but I put my hand on the Yukimura in the holster under my jacket. I tried to glance back over my shoulder now and then. The punk was watching me too. He held his right hand suspiciously. As if he was about to draw a gun from under his jacket. Then footsteps sounded from above, and I instantly locked up. There was no sound of a door opening. The footsteps immediately started on the floor above, as if someone was standing there, waiting for a signal.
A non-working elevator, this weirdo, the steps upstairs. One detail can be ignored. Two is worse, but all three...
I stopped, turning back down, and then events spiraled out of control. The scratched body of an old revolver flashed in the punk's hand.